


Umbrella

by suibian_distance



Category: Ocean's Eleven Trilogy (Movies)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Conversations, M/M, Rain, Umbrellas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:42:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25288504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suibian_distance/pseuds/suibian_distance
Summary: When they pull back the curtain to look out the window, they find the sun illuminating the droplets of rain falling. A sunshower.Or, as Rusty muses (with a grin, like the madman he is), “Huh. The devil’s beating his wife.”[Five Times Danny and Rusty Almost Kiss in the Rain And One Time They Do].
Relationships: Danny Ocean/Rusty Ryan
Comments: 34
Kudos: 117





	1. The Tenth Job

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cleardishwashers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cleardishwashers/gifts).



> oh god this took **so long.** i even distanced myself from my friends and family to finish this oh god. :hollow:
> 
> this is my longest fic, and i'd just like to thank [ cleardishwashers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cleardishwashers) for their top tier fics and general awesomeness and tasha for letting me base the first chapter off her other house and for being very great. you guys are awesome <3
> 
> there's a [ playlist ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/13ZhIrvE8CTaG2EbvP5ueK) for this, because of course there is.

**i. The Tenth Job**

It’s their tenth job, and Danny keeps count on the tiny orange (and waterproof, apparently) _Field Notes_ his sister gave him when he left home last year. He sits on the dimming patch of sun shining over the floorboards and lets the warmth ease the tension from his shoulders. He flexes his fingers a few centimeters from the ground, watching his shadow (more solid and opaque than he had ever seen it) catch on his fingers and mirror his movements against the floorboards, accurate, sure, and steady. 

Rusty’s hunched over at the table, scribbling into the margins of the notepad they got from the plaza’s dollar store. It doesn’t matter how they got it. (Well, okay, maybe Danny did pay for it. And maybe he did leave a tip, but those details are meaningless and at the fault of the smiling child pretending to man the counter. Whatever.) 

The house is perched sturdily on the top of a hill with its back on the forest behind it, looming staunchly over the road that slinks through the neighbourhood. (It made Danny feel glad he took that architecture course in college.) Saul booked it for them, and according to him, the estate is called Sutcliffe Hills. He can’t quite pin the style, but he’s decided on somewhere near American Craftsman and Adirondack. The interior is almost all spruce, its polish cool against his skin. And Rusty, good, tolerant Rusty, had let him wax rhapsodic about the house for the better half of an hour. 

They had just finished a job on a property a good way from here, swapping a bag full of precious stones and assorted rings for fakes while Saul distracted the owner with some pretentious topic like [ Prada belts ](https://www.prada.com/ca/en/men/accessories/belts/products.nylon_belt.2CM216_053_F0002.html?utm_campaign=GoogleShopping_CA&utm_medium=CPC&utm_source=Google&utm_content=Shopping&s_kwcid=AL!8549!3!266561660158!!!g!836305735347!&gclid=EAIaIQobChMIo5eVkfjP6gIVUT2tBh2IlQqUEAYYASABEgLgF_D_BwE&gclsrc=aw.ds) or whatever. It was about time for them to leave. 

The sun shifts on Danny’s neck and he stretches, rubbing the muscle between his neck and shoulder. He watches Rusty run a hand through his blond hair, fingers carding through the locks at the end. (It’s getting long, he thinks, a bit absently, Rusty should get it cut). Rusty stretches his wrist, bringing his whole arm up. From here, Danny can see the muscles in his bicep flex, underneath the rolled-up sleeves of his dress shirt. Something too close to pathetic longing spikes in Danny’s chest and he almost panics before he remembers who he is. 

“Rusty,” Danny says, a bit too sharp and a bit too loud. Rusty startles, and Danny hears the crunch of crumpling paper. “Sorry. We should-” 

“Yeah.” Rusty gets up, closes his notebook, and rain starts splattering down. 

When they pull back the curtain to look out the window, they find the sun illuminating the droplets of rain falling. A sunshower. 

Or, as Rusty muses (with a grin, like the madman he is), “Huh. The devil’s beating his wife.” 

— 

They get into the car with what barely counts as luggage and don’t stop driving until they’ve stopped in front of a buzzing yellow sign that advertises for a motel, which just turns out to be rows and rows of tiny wooden cabins. When they get out, the night sky is bruised black and blue with clouds, and the rain is still pouring down, more insistently than before. Whatever, it’s still the closest to modern technology they’ll get here up in the mountains. 

The woman at the front counter is thirty-something and speaks like she’s smoked cigarettes consistently every day since the day she was born. There are shadows under her eyes and Danny feels bad, so he leaves a tip. (Rusty’s right, he’s too emotional.) 

As they’re walking to their cabin, not even bothering to hide from the rain, Danny says, conversationally, “You know, I’d be surprised if they had electricity at all.” 

Rusty stops dead as if he’s remembered something particularly unsavoury. 

“Oh, shit,” Rusty’s voice cuts through the rain. “Did we get the street camera?” 

Danny freezes, feeling as cold as the raindrop that snakes its way down his back. “What street camera?” 

“The one facing out into the part where our car was.” Rusty digs around in his pocket for his cell. 

“Wait,” Danny says, and with a wave of relief, remembers that Saul took care of the surrounding cameras. “Calm down, it’s fine. Saul-” 

“Oh,” Rusty says sheepishly, drawing his hand back. “Right. Yeah, sorry, I forgot.” 

Danny pauses to brush away water from his eyes. The rain is streaking heavily down now, drenching them both in freezing rainwater. Rusty’s bangs are plastered to his forehead, blond hair saturated a dark brown by water and the dark. 

“What’s up with you today?” Danny asks, fighting the urge to reach out and brush Rusty’s hair to the side. “You’re so… jumpy.” 

Rusty blinks away the water that weighs down on his eyelashes, his eyes pools of Prussian blue. “I… don’t know.” 

“Are you alright?” 

Rusty’s silent, looking like a deer in headlights with his face tilted slightly upwards, and Danny realizes how close he’s gotten. He retreats, hastily, and mumbles, “It’s raining. We should get-” 

“Yeah, let’s go.” Rusty says, and heads towards the cabin. “Do you have dry-” 

“Of course.” 

They always finish each other's sentences after that.


	2. Isabel Lahiri (and the Europol, but Danny Doesn’t Know About That Part Yet)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“I think I can live with her being the one that got away,” says Rusty, casually._
> 
> Danny and Rusty find themselves on a library roof. Set after the first time Rusty climbs out the window.

**ii. Isabel Lahiri (and the Europol, but Danny Doesn’t Know About That Part Yet)**

“Hey, stranger.” 

Rusty’s sitting, book balanced on his knees, on the cold ground (floor?) of the library roof, under the eaves of the roof that covers the stairs leading down to the actual library. He turns his head up at the sound of Danny’s voice and smiles. “Mr… Ocean, I believe we’ve met?” 

Danny laughs, and lowers himself to crouch by Rusty’s side. “Starting to understand German?” 

Rusty shuts the book with a soft _click_. “Not one bit.” 

“Heard about the girl. Sucks. ” 

He shrugs. The book in his lap is bright red, sporting a yellow title- _Berlin Alexanderplatz_.* He doesn’t respond to Danny’s statement, just drums his fingers on the cover. “Reminded me of you.” 

“Does it?” Danny sits down. The ground is cold. 

Rusty shrugs again, but a smile plays on his lips. “No, not at all, really.” 

“The book or the Isabel?” 

He laughs thinly, rubbing his fingers over the cover. He’s wearing a burgundy wool coat, buttoned all the way up to his collar. Danny doesn’t have to see to know his gloves are tucked in the right pocket. “It’s raining,” Rusty says, and his voice takes on a soft tone. 

Danny stands, brushing the dirt from his pants, spreads his arms melodramatically and walks out into the open. When he stops walking, his shoes are a foot away from the edge, and he can see the rows and rows of little houses underneath. The sky is a bleary morning grey, clouds covering every inch. The rain’s falling lightly, the drops feather-light against his skin. He hears a light rustle as Rusty puts the book down and follows him. 

They stand in the rain (and Danny lowers his arms, because goddamn, it’s painful and really quite pointless after the initial moment). 

“I think I can live with her being the one that got away,” says Rusty, casually. 

“I think that’s you,” Danny responds, and fixes his eyes on the sky. “I mean, was the tap on the whole-?” 

“Yep.” 

“Hurts to think of the water bill.” 

Rusty laughs. “Yeah.” 

“Why did you have to leave?” 

He hears Rusty’s shoes scuff on the ground. “Reasons.” 

“Very specific,” Danny mutters, but he lets it go. 

When Rusty speaks again, his voice is somber. “I thought I could love her, you know.” 

"Mm,” Danny says, and reaches out behind him blindly to pat Rusty’s shoulder. Instead of his shoulder, Danny gets Rusty’s cold hand, and honestly, that’s alright, too. “I’m sorry.” He laces their fingers together. 

The wind picks up, and the rain is icy cold as it splatters on his face. Danny tugs his scarf tighter around his neck with his free hand. 

Rusty’s breath is warm against the shell of his ear, drawing them closer, hands dragging up Danny’s arm. He puts his chin on Danny’s shoulder, and breathes, _sotto voce_ , (as if not to be overhead, gently, and Danny _swears_ he feels the brush of Rusty’s lips against his ear) “Don’t be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***Berlin Alexanderplatz- (wikipedia) "The story concerns a murderer, Franz Biberkopf, fresh from prison. When his friend murders the prostitute on whom Biberkopf has been relying as an anchor, he realizes that he will be unable to extricate himself from the underworld into which he has sunk. He must deal with misery, lack of opportunities, crime and the imminent ascendency of Nazism."** When I read a slight review of it, I thought it was a lot like Danny's story, but after looking into it more, I realized it was kinda very different. I still put it in because I think Rusty cares about Danny so much that anything even sort of similar reminds him of Danny.  
> this is honestly one of my favourite things i've written, and even though i kinda found the whole "oh they've gotta b outside/it's gotta rain" thing a bit wonky,, i just convinced myself that bc it spans over the course of the entire trilogy and across the entire US,,,, it,,, works ?? i don't know haha thank you for reading


	3. Tess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danny stands in the living room of the New Jersey townhouse they’re living in and leans against the wall. Tess is in the middle of the room, having already kicked over the glass coffee table, and she’s screaming blue murder about his recent job somewhere along the Bronx. Danny remembers, vaguely, the circumstances. One or two million in assorted jewelry and some stones. (Huh, Danny thinks, a bit absently, doing his best to tune out Tess’s crying and screaming, it was like the tenth job).

**iii. Tess**

The first time Tess throws him out for good, her face is pinched and angry, red hair like flames around her head. 

Danny stands in the living room of the New Jersey townhouse they’re living in and leans against the wall. Tess is in the middle of the room, having already kicked over the glass coffee table, and she’s screaming blue murder about his recent job somewhere along the Bronx. Danny remembers, vaguely, the circumstances. One or two million in assorted jewelry and some stones. (Huh, Danny thinks, a bit absently, doing his best to tune out Tess’s crying and screaming, it was like the tenth job). 

He tilts his head obligingly and listens to what Tess has to say. 

“Daniel Ocean!” Tess shouts for what seems to be the millionth time. “You promised and you broke that promise. How many more of these are there? How long am I going to keep seeing you in the news? I swear-” Danny stops listening. 

Look, he loves her, he _really does_ , but she doesn’t get that- well, she just doesn’t get it. That’s about it. And he was counting on her not finding out about this one. Or any of the other ones. 

“Tess, honey,” he says, slowly, softly, like he’s calming a horse (Tess isn’t a horse). “I know you don’t like what we do, but-” 

“ _We_?” Tess snaps, igniting like a pool of gasoline having come in contact with a lit match. “ _We?_ Daniel Ocean, what _we_?” She kicks the table again, and there’s an audible crack. 

Oops. “No, no, Tess,” Danny hurries, pushing himself off the wall, but it’s like a few pesky drops of water on a burning forest. 

Tess pivots in a perfect one-eighty and her hair whips painfully on his face. “You _said_ that you told Rusty to back off and you weren’t-” 

“I _did_ , Tess, I just misspoke-” 

She holds her finger close to his face and snarls (snarls, she literally _snarls_ ), “I may not know you as well as he does, but I can tell when you lie to my face.” 

Danny grabs her hand, and says urgently, getting that he’s the one slipping on the cliff edge in this situation, “Tess, _really_ , please-” 

She yanks her hand out of his grip. “Do you know what it’s like, having your husband _lie_ to you all the time? I can’t do this! You can’t trust me, I can’t trust you. You’re off halfway across the country most of the time, stealing things and doing whatever it is you do- I can’t put up with it.” 

_Shit, shit, no, Tess, wait, not like this_. “Tess,” Danny says, frantically, and he can feel his fingers sliding off the cliff edge, “Tess, please, I lo-” 

The glass breaks and the shards fall onto the ground in jagged, shining shards. “Get out,” she hisses. “Pack your- pack your goddamn suits- and _get out_.”

* * *

“O-kay,” Rusty says, cautiously drawing out the O. “You never call me.” He doesn’t say the _anymore_ , but it rings out, clear as a bell into the static. 

Danny shrugs, forgetting that he’s on a call. “Tess threw me out.” 

There’s an audible pause, and then he hears the click of the call ending. 

“Okay,” Danny says to himself, sarcastically, and flips his phone shut. It’s drizzling, because it’s April and Danny will never get used to New York. 

The hotel Rusty’s been staying in is called Malachite Inn. It’s a strange-looking building (it’s not malachite- hell, it’s barely even green); its walls are mostly made of a smooth ashlar, with quoins at the front. There are strobe lights on in the bushes, alternating yellow and red on the lawn. He stops paying attention there, because the front doors swing open and Rusty strolls out in another of his ostentatious suits. 

“God, it’s _neon_ ,” Danny says, dismayed, as Rusty nears him. 

Rusty scoffs, rubbing at his chin with a hand. “Thought you’d be more upset about Tess than my suits, but alright.” 

Danny mirrors Rusty’s movement, feeling the ring on his hand catch on his stubble. “I am upset. About Tess, I mean.” 

Rusty looks at him, eyes narrowed through the rain. He says, voice dipping into a whisper at the end, “Danny, why did you call me?” 

Danny turns, just a bit, and says, quickly, knowing Rusty’s going to rebuff him, “That museum Tess works at, there’s these masks, and-” 

Rusty interrupts him with a sharp “Danny, _no_ ,” but he continues talking, saying, “-I want her to know it’s me, Rus.” 

Rusty stares at him like he’s completely lost his mind. (Seriously, Danny hasn’t seen him look this perturbed before). He says, voice incredulous, “What are you _on_? Have you gone completely insane?” 

Danny fights the urge to stomp his foot like a child (he’s been holding it together _so well_ , and this is threatening to break the dam on the incessant flood of his emotions). Rusty doesn’t get that- he just _doesn’t get it_ \- he doesn’t get that Tess, right now, is Danny’s everything and he _can’t_ let her go, not like this, not without a fight. 

“Rusty, I love her. She’s my _wife_ , I have to-” 

“Yes, but not at the expense of losing your cover! Hell, you could blow all our covers. They could start looking into the Bronx job, or the Mayfields one. It’s too close and you’re obviously too emotionally- whatever.” 

“No, it’s going to work, and-” 

“Daniel Ocean,” Rusty snaps, and for a second he sounds very much like both Danny’s mother and Tess, “Why are you so- this isn’t going to work, just let it- her -go.” 

Danny runs a hand through his hair, feeling like he’s fighting a losing battle (Rusty’s never gonna _listen_ ). “You don’t get it!” He says, but it comes out more like a shout. Rusty reels back a little, something unreadable flashing across his face. “I love her, I really do, and I have to show it, because if not I’m going to lose her forever. And- and if you’re not going to help me on this, then-” He cuts himself off. 

Rusty stares at him, stricken, and steps forward. Danny wavers between stepping back and meeting him in the middle, because Rusty looks like he’s going to do anything from fainting to breaking Danny’s nose. (It doesn’t help that Danny’s brilliant mind is taking the moment to notice how blue Rusty’s eyes look through the rain.) “Then?” 

Rusty whispers the answer to his own question. His tone is intimate, like he’s sharing sweet nothings with a lover. “Then… you’re going to have to do this without me.” 

Danny stares at him. Rusty takes a few steps back, eyes fixed on a spot somewhere beside Danny’s ear. “Bye, Danny.” 

He watches Rusty’s retreating figure with a dull, drumming feeling. His phone trills, and he picks it up. 

“What?” he snaps. 

“Danny! My guy.” 

“Oh, it’s you. Sorry.” It’s this guy- Joe Hollyburn- or Nickel, as everyone calls him- Danny did a few jobs with him back before he started properly working with Rusty. He was kind of messy at covering things up, but he was alright. Had a talent for lockpicking (as the story goes, he once picked a lock with something as blunt and round as a nickel, hence the name.) 

Danny shakes his head and blurts, not believing what he’s saying, “Hey, Nickel, there’s these masks…” 

Everyone knows how it ends. Or how it starts again. Two years into his sentence, Danny gets a tin of chocolate chip cookies. And every single one has a single chocolate chip. No more, no less. There isn’t a note. But he hears it, clear as a bell. _You can’t have both._

But it’s fine, because it means Rusty’s forgiven him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tfw corona cancels school and you have to go back to seeing ur mom and dad literally every moment of the day bc of the size of your house and your mom throws a hissy fit because you told her to stop asking you questions about meet joe black while you're busy working and she stops talking to you for 3 weeks. save me i've been sending my friends sad keanu macros all week and none of them responded with actual consolation [ sad keanu ](https://i.kym-cdn.com/entries/icons/facebook/000/002/862/SadKeanu.jpg)  
> anyways enjoy !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! please stay inside and social distance i wanna go back to school i cant do this


	4. Basher & Yen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yen says something about tweezers being an embarrassment to chopsticks everywhere and Danny’s too hammered to distinguish the tones. Goddamnit.  
> There’s a moment of drunken silence.

****

**iv. Basher & Yen **

Yen curses in Chinese as the tweezers touch the side of the many wounds of Basher’s Operation game’s “Cavity Sam,” no doubt snapping something about all of their mothers. 

Basher laughs, and says something like “drink, idiot,” his accent so thick the words are barely understandable. Hell, Danny doesn’t even think he’s speaking English anymore. 

Yen says something about tweezers being an embarrassment to chopsticks everywhere and Danny’s too hammered to distinguish the tones. Goddamnit. 

There’s a moment of drunken silence. 

The house is Linus’s. Well, it’s one of Bobby’s, but Bobby’s somewhere in the Caribbean enjoying his sweet, long FBI agent vacation with his wife. As for Linus, the kid’s passed out on the couch, curled into a little ball and murmuring something about the cat. _What cat?_ Danny had thought, and then the [ furry, white-as-death, yellow-eyed sonofabitch](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/f9/96/75/f996756341e6bdb569f3ed7ce9e3a2b3.jpg) had streaked lightning-fast past Danny’s ankles and then the whole affair had ended with him falling face-first into the ground and Basher laughing so hard he threw up. (And they say black cats are unlucky.) 

The three of them sit in intoxicated silence and forget how to use their mouths. Yen’s head is pillowed in his hands, and everything that Basher says is incomprehensible. _God_ , Danny thinks wildly, and gropes for this wine glass, almost knocking it over in the process, _I’m too old for this_. 

There’s a knock at the door (or maybe Danny’s imagining it, so he doesn’t get up and answer.) The silence is stretching rather dumbly now, and he feels like [ unorthodox taxidermy](https://www.drseussart.com/taxidermy/anthony-drexel-goldfarb). The knocking intensifies in volume, and once he remembers how to use his limbs, he gets up and opens the door. 

“Hi,” he slurs to a very puzzled face. His mind takes a while to connect it to the rest of Rusty’s body. “Thought you were in Europe,” he manages. 

Rusty looks weary. “How many did you have?” 

“Five,” Danny says, for old time’s sake. He amends, “Three. Full glasses.” 

Rusty shakes his head. “Can I come in?” 

“Rusty!” Basher shouts from the table the moment Rusty steps foot into the house. Linus jumps awake, looking slightly terrified. “What’re you doin’ here?” 

“Was I not invited to the sleepover?” Rusty asks, sounding affronted, but the corner of his mouth quirks up. “The whole gang's here.” 

“No, just-” Danny waves vaguely to the three people in the living room. “Just.” 

Rusty shakes his head quickly, sending drops of water everywhere. “Look, Danny, can we talk? Outside.” 

Yen lifts his head and bangs it on the window behind him. “下雨呢.” _It’s raining_. 

The rain is slapping rhythmically on the windows, the sound stark and pronounced now that the room has lapsed into impaired silence. 

“‘S okay, I’ve got an umbrella.” Rusty holds it up, all blue and checkered and ridiculous like his suits, and Danny’s traitorous mind jumps to how it matches his eyes. 

From the couch, Linus says, drowsily, “Don’t get sick,” and promptly passes out again. 

The rain drums steadily on the umbrella as they step outside. Danny shivers as the wind hits him. He shakes his head and tries to sober up. 

“How was-” He begins, forgetting what it’s like to talk to Rusty. 

“Windy,” Rusty says. 

“Rough couple of…?” 

“Nine months. Almost-” 

“Yeah. What about-” 

“She’s gone. Well, I am.” 

Awesome, they’re still freaky brain twins. Rusty pops his gum, and the petrichor-heavy air is spiked with the smell of Juicy Fruit. Danny says, “You good?” 

Rusty glances over at him. “How drunk are you?” 

“Doubt I’ll remember this.” 

“Remember what?” 

Danny gives him a blank look. After a few beats, Rusty laughs. “Okay.” 

The conversation lulls. Danny puts out a hand and feels the raindrops drip heavily into his palm. 

“Does Tess know you’re here?” Rusty cracks his gum again. 

“Of course.” 

“Do you think you made the right choice?” 

“With Tess?” Danny looks over at him. He thinks, _No, no, I didn’t, because I want you_ , but he says, “Sure.” 

Rusty says, “I think I made the right choice, you know, with Isabel. I’m never going to not do this, and she’s never gonna not do that.” He shrugs, a fluid motion, and adjusts his grip on the umbrella. 

“Think you can live with her being the one that got away?” 

Rusty scoffs, but grins anyway. “Think Tess will help break the law this time?” 

Danny doesn’t answer, but he brushes the pads of his fingers over Rusty’s hand. 

Rusty says, “Do you think you can settle down this time? For good?” 

“Depends. Tess has been looking at neighbourhoods in New Jersey that fulfill her suburban dream.” 

“And how do you fit in?” 

Danny gives him a look. “Retired. And she’s an artist. Painter.” 

“Again?” 

“Again.” 

Rusty touches Danny’s shoulder momentarily. Danny asks him, “Are you?” 

He glances at Danny out of the corner of his eye and hovers for a moment before giving a jerky shake of his head. Rusty wouldn’t even consider retirement until he’s fully buried six feet underground. 

The rain splats appropriately on the ground, and Danny says, “We should go inside, you’ll catch a cold. Like Linus said.” 

Rusty glances over at Danny’s thin dress shirt and trouser shorts, then at his own overcoat and slacks, but smiles and indulges him. “Alright.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sometimes i just wanna have oatmeal and write another road trip fic


	5. Tess, Reprise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Out of all the places in the world, the last place Danny Ocean thought his wife, who he robbed three casinos of a soft $160 million for, would break up with him for the second time was Home Depot. In front of the goddamn paints. Really, Tess?

**v. Tess, Reprise**

Out of all the places in the world, the last place Danny Ocean thought his wife, who he robbed three casinos of a soft $160 million for, would break up with him for the second time was Home Depot. In front of the goddamn paints. Really, Tess? 

He says that out loud, and Tess looks like she’s about to burst into tears. _God_ , Danny thinks. _It’s like_ she’s _the one being divorced for the second time_. Not to mention the absolute headache he went through trying to get her back. Goddamnit, Tess. (He’s not really mad, but there’s some relief flooding his chest and he doesn’t want to think about that shit at all.) 

“Danny,” Tess says, her words garbled. 

He waves his hand at her. “Not now, I’m trying to figure out which shade of beige would make the toilet in the bathroom stand out and how to avoid it.” 

“Danny!” Tess says, but she smiles a bit. “Just… let’s talk about this in the car.” 

So they abandon their cart and sit in the car. 

Tess says, tears streaking down her face (she never cries, Danny thinks, and is instantly dismayed), “Danny, I-I just _can’t_. Whatever you’re doing, I can’t be with you, and- and I don’t even know you, that’s what it seems like. This-” she gestures wildly to the air in front of them and wipes at her eyes, “-I mean, that- it makes you happy, and I don’t get a single bit of it. And it makes me upset, you know that, and it making me upset upsets you, and you’re just _forced_ to be someone you’re not, for me, and I can’t-” She emphatically wails, and before Danny can get a word in, she barrels on. “I feel so- so _guilty_ , and we can’t live like this! It’ll kill you before it kills me, and then we’ll both be dead and Terry Benedict will be happy and I can’t bear the idea of making Terry Benedict happy.” 

Danny rubs her arm as she sobs into a tissue she produced out of the many pockets of her seemingly bottomless Hermes purse Danny got for an obscenely large amount of money on their second third anniversary. 

“Tess,” he says, soothingly. “It’s alright, please, don’t cry.” 

She wails something that he is not able to untangle so he lets her pull him into an embrace. 

“Tess,” he says, calmly and gently, as if calming a horse (Tess isn’t a horse). “I want you to be happy. And if this is it, so be it.” 

“I want you to be happy, too, and if I’m here you can’t be with-” She cuts herself off, and stiffens. 

Danny draws back. “What?” 

She brushes her hair back and dabs at her eyes again. “God, that was melodramatic. Let’s just go home, we’ll talk about it when we’re not in the view of everyone coming in and out of Home Depot.” 

Danny sticks the keys into the ignition. “With whom?” 

She meets his eyes placatingly through the rearview mirror and says, “Let’s go home first.” 

And so they do.

* * *

At home, Tess throws off her shoes at the door and throws herself on the sofa. 

“Danny, could you get me that Kleenex?” she asks, closing her eyes. He obliges. 

He sits by her side, propping his arm on the cushion. He prompts in a benign but firm tone, “With?” 

Tess opens her eyes, and the whites are red from the tears. She says, morosely, “Danny, sweetheart, I want you to be happy.” 

He stares at her, and Tess, sweet, strong Tess, stares back. He grins without meaning to, a quick _Atta girl_ flashing in his head. 

Tess brushes the heel of her hand on Danny’s cheek, and tells him, “You know who he is.” 

He purses his lips, still pretending he doesn’t know who she’s talking about. “He?’ 

Tess sighs and pats Danny’s cheek diplomatically. “Just- I know you know.” She smiles and jokes, looking amused: “Go get him, tiger.”

He wasn’t bothered, except maybe he did sit in silence for a long three minutes in the car. 

He had kissed Tess goodbye one last time, and she patted his shoulder, eyes watery, and wished him luck. Danny asked her to take care, and if she ever needed to find him… 

It wasn’t as bad as he thought. It didn’t sting or hurt or feel like he was falling off a cliff like the first time. The thing was, towards the end, it was more of a friendship than a marriage. And it wasn't like he wasn't pretending that the whole retired-suburban-husband role wasn't killing him. 

Danny presses the phone hard against his ear. The dial tone inches slowly and it’s like they’re programming it to make them sound slower. 

“Hello?” 

"Hey, it’s me.” 

There’s an audible pause, and Danny feels like he’s getting déjà vu. “Danny? What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing’s _wrong_ ,” Danny says, hastily, already chickening out of springing the whole “My wife implied I’m in love with you and I just might be, which is why we’re divorcing for the second time”; he adds, “Tess and I are, uh, divorcing. Again.” 

There’s another audible silence and Danny’s beginning to think he would rather have Rusty have a hissy fit like last time. Rusty says, finally, “Again?” 

“Uh, yeah, it was a mutual decision, don’t-” 

Rusty makes a series of half-pronounced, cut-off words. “Danny, I-” 

“Don’t worry.” 

He responds, voice uncharacteristically soft, “Are you okay?” 

Danny gives a light exhale of a laugh. “Jesus. I mean-” He stops and rubs the back of his neck. “Can I crash at your place? Just for a little while, I-” 

“Yeah, of course. Where are you? I’ll pick you up.” 

“No, it’s alright, but can you meet me at that Italian cafe in-” 

“The one with the little signs?” 

Danny frowns. “Uh. I guess.” 

“Ah, yes.” Rusty sounds amused, and he hears some mysterious clicking sounds on the other end. He says emphatically, “I heard they have _excellent_ tiramisu- almost like Rome.” He pauses, and there’s some more vague jingling sounds. “ I can be there in half an hour.” 

Danny shuts his eyes. “Great.”

* * *

It’s raining, because of course it is. 

He meets Rusty at the front doors, holding an umbrella. The rain comes down in sheets and Rusty’s soaked from head to ridiculous shoes, his spiky hair plastered to his face. He’s wearing some ostentatious trench coat, the buttons shining a bright gold against the navy cotton. It’s the worst part of Europe he bought back, and Danny tells him this. Rusty grins through the rain at him and there’s a weird swooping feeling in his chest that he doesn’t want to pay much mind to. 

“Hey,” Rusty says quickly, and opens the door for him. 

Danny shakes out the umbrella and backtracks, saying, “Actually, do you just wanna-” 

Rusty lets the door go. “Sure.” 

Danny opens the umbrella again, and they stroll along the street. Rusty asks, “How are you feeling?” like he’s a therapist or something. 

Danny scuffs his shoes, but just ends up splashing in a puddle. “Better than I thought.” 

The roads are empty, with a few parked cars along the sides. The rain’s doing that breathy, desperate thing, drumming on the ground and his umbrella, and it’s making Danny’s chest hurt. It’s a residential area, and everyone’s inside because of the weather. Their only company are the slick-feathered crows pecking at the garbage bins behind the cafe. 

Rusty looks over at him, and says, smilingly, “Remember that time at Jericho Beach, with-” 

Danny laughs. “Oh, yeah, I really thought-” 

“You said you would marry her.” They turn left on a cul-de-sac. 

“And you drove off in _my_ -” 

“What kind of guy takes his best friend along on a romantic vacation, Danny? Really, she-” 

“Rachael Long was a _very_ sensible girl, she didn’t-” 

“Her name was _Meghan Earlheart_ , that’s not even _close_ , plus, she wasn’t-” 

“Yeah, _fine_ , you were right, but-” 

“Okay, _now_ you say that! I remember-” 

Danny tuts loudly over the rest of Rusty’s sentence and purposefully nudges him into stepping in a puddle. He squawks and falls over, limbs flailing in the air inelegantly. Unfortunately, he was also holding on to Danny’s wrist, for some reason, and he gets pulled down as well. 

They lie in a heap of tangled limbs and laugh. Danny thinks the ground is supposed to hurt or be cold or something, but it doesn’t. It feels like they’re twelve and eleven again, straying too close to the edge of the boardwalk and running along the wet sand where the tide met the beach and pushing each other into water and dry, yellow summer grass and over the edge of the boardwalk they weren’t supposed to get too close to. Danny picks up the umbrella and closes it to lower the risk of getting their eyes poked out. Rusty props himself up on his elbows and grins, and it’s not like they’re twelve and eleven again, because Danny is totally and hopelessly in love and it’s raining and they’re really, _really_ getting old this time. Danny gives an answering grin before hauling himself up, sopping wet, and holding out a hand. 

“Just for that,” Rusty says, looking amused, “you’re driving me home.” 

He takes Danny’s hand and sort of tugs on his fingertips before fully letting go, and it makes his heart hurt. For a fleeting second he wants to lean in and get what he really wants, because they’re alone in the street and no one, not even Tess and Isabel, can stop them, and- 

“So,” Rusty prompts, still smiling, but in a soft, supporting tone. “Tess.” 

Danny sucks in a breath and tilts his face so the rain falls on his face instead of on top of his head. “I’m not upset anymore. It was a long time coming.” 

“I mean,” Danny starts again, and brushes his hair back. “If I were to do it again, I wouldn’t go to Home Depot today.” 

“Woah, in Home-” 

“Yeah. Right in the middle of deciding which shade of beige to paint the bathroom.” 

Rusty claps Danny on the shoulder. “It’s like that.” 

Danny fishes his keys from his wet pants pocket, jingles them in front of Rusty’s face, and says, “Ride home?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'd like to thank tess for speaking in italics because i gave myself a literally migraine placing all the html italic commands in between the commas  
> second last chapter omg :flushed: i feel excitement


	6. Fake Your Death (Before Anyone Else Has the Chance To)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hey, stranger.”

**vi. Fake Your Death (Before Anyone Else Has the Chance To)**

Danny always knew he was going to fake his death one day; all he needed was a reason to. 

He distantly remembers telling Debbie about it, back when Rusty still came over every day for dinner and their parents were actually home in the evenings. It’s her own fault if she doesn’t remember. 

Last he’d heard she had robbed the Met, and he didn’t even pretend he didn’t feel that surge of pride, all _That’s my girl_ and _I taught her that and now she’s gone on to do bigger things_. God, maybe he should give her a call, but then again, it’s for her to remember and her to find out. 

He looks around at the dreary, monochrome day around him but still feels warm. 

The food from the truck wasn’t that bad. Danny taps his fingers on the plastic bench of the picnic table and listens to the rain beat like a heart on the red umbrella held up by the table. The food, greasy and sweet and definitely diabetes-inducing in all its glory, is something Rusty would like. Well, it’s just fries and a drink. But it reminds him of Rusty, and because Danny’s kinda sorta maybe really, really in love with him, he can’t help but dine here. 

“Hey, stranger.” 

“Speak of the devil,” Danny snipes, but he’s grinning stupidly wide. “How’d you find me?” 

“It’s flattering, really,” Rusty waves a crumb-coated hand. “Whenever you’re avoiding me, you go to a place that reminds you of me. It’s just true.” He shrugs, smiling winningly, and licks the crumbs off his fingers. “I knew you weren’t dead.” (Danny wants to tell him right there and then, but he’s always fallen on this side of _coward_ ). 

Danny laughs, and pushes the rest of his fries to Rusty. “Did you miss me?” 

“Caught your sister at the grave. You didn’t tell her?” 

“Ah,” Danny says, and laughs. “How is my baby sister?” 

Rusty rolls his eyes and stabs at Danny with a fry. “Deb and I are the same age, you know.” 

Danny opens his mouth in mock surprise and feels a little stab of pride at the way it makes Rusty’s mouth curl up at the corners. 

“‘Settle down, have a couple of kids?’” Rusty quotes, and looks up quizzically. “The hell did you mean by that?” 

“Exactly what you meant telling me to keep the weight off in between.” 

He snorts. “That was before I jumped out of Isabel’s window for the second time.” 

Danny takes a sip of his drink, enjoying the way the bubbles fizzed on his tongue. “And it’s been a while since I said that. It’s been… what, six years? Jesus.” 

Rusty takes a sip of his own drink, chewing on the straw thoughtfully. “What would I need kids for when I’ve got Linus?” 

Danny laughs. “He’s growing up. Actually, I think he might be thirty, almost.” 

Rusty sighs, looking dramatically off into the distance. “They grow up so fast.” He turns back to Danny, and says, “I thought you wanted kids.” 

Danny shrugs and leans a bit on the table. “Well, I thought wrong.” 

Rusty gives him a small nod, and they listen to the rain fall in silence. 

“It’s raining,” Rusty notes. 

“Of course it is,” says Danny, beginning to think that it’s a bit fishy. 

Rusty finishes the rest of his fries, and stands up, wiping his hands on a spare napkin. He offers his arm. “Walk with me?” 

“Are we keeping the drinks?” 

One of Rusty’s shoulders raises in a half-shrug, and he says, “Whatever you like.” 

Danny stands and takes Rusty’s arm. 

* * *

“You know,” Rusty says, when they’re walking through the parking lot that’s supposed to lead down to the proper path, “I’ve always thought that-” He cuts himself off. 

“Thought that what?” Danny jumps up onto a parking stop. He doesn’t bother to hide his curiosity. 

“You know,” Rusty says, and looks torn. Danny stares. In all these years, he’d never seen Rusty directionless in conversation. 

“I, uh,” Rusty says, after a few beats of silence. They walk through the little gate that leads to this long, winding, cobblestone path. “I never answered your question.” 

“What?” Danny says, and instantly feels like a blubbering child. 

“About Debbie. She’s great,” he says. “Heard she’s with-” 

“Oh!” Danny snaps his fingers. “Miller! Wow.” He laughs. “Good for them.” 

Rusty looks at him and smiles. The conversation lulls; they listen to the rain and their footsteps splatter on the ground. Danny thinks about his sister and decides to write her a letter when he gets home (wherever that is). 

“Remember when the- the summer where-” Rusty begins. 

“Like, ‘77?” Danny scuffs the heel of his shoe on the concrete. 

“Yeah. You would do that thing, you know, where you’d eat the blueberries from the empty gin and tonic glasses. And Debbie would always throw pieces of bread at us from across the table when your parents weren’t looking.” 

Danny smiles at him through the rain. “You remember that?” 

Something unreadable flashes across his face for the millionth of a second, but he covers it up, smoothing his face like one would a suit jacket. “Yes. We were just starting out, back then.” 

Danny can’t help but reach out and touch his cheek, just for a fleeting second. Rusty’s eyes glow a rich, deep blue, opulent and steady against the dim, grey sky, and _God_ , he’s gorgeous. 

Danny thinks about the thing with the guy at the place, because they’re reminiscing now, and he brings up the thing (no, not that thing, another thing, because he doesn’t want to die) with the guy and the gazebo, and teases, laughingly, “Rusty, you remember the thing with the-” 

“-guy at the place, yeah. Still never been to Belize. Why?” He glances at Danny through the corner of his eye. “I don’t like where this is going.” 

“It brings me back, you know, to the thing with the guy at the g-” 

Rusty fully pushes him sideways, but his hands are around Danny’s wrist again (God, how does he keep missing that?) and they drop the umbrella and fall down in a heap of tangled limbs and rain-soaked clothing and it feels like they’re fifteen and sixteen again, but it’s- 

“I’m getting déjà vu,” Danny says, frantically, because it’s not the same and he’s pretty sure Rusty wants this as much as he does (oh _God_ , he never knew) and Rusty’s hands are on either side of his head; they’re alone and no one, not even Tess and Isabel, can stop them from getting what they really want, and- 

Rusty tells him, “Maybe you’ll actually kiss me this time,” and leans down and presses his lips to Danny’s. He tastes like the rain still falling steadily on the ground beside them and like New Jersey and the first 4-carat diamond they stole and fizzy Coca Cola and like _everything_ Danny’s ever wanted. 

He pulls back, finally, and the two of them gasp into each other's mouths like teenagers, and Danny tangles his fingers in Rusty’s wet hair and says, “I see what you mean.” 

Rusty laughs. A crackle of thunder shakes the ground, and he says, “You know, I used to not believe in God, but haven’t you noticed it’s always raining?” 

“I think God has better things to do,” Danny laughs, and kisses him again, a smooth clash of teeth and tongues. He draws back and asks, “How do you keep falling down with me?” 

Rusty’s grin broadens, and sits up, fumbling for something in his pockets. Danny does too, wincing at the rain and the cold and his back, and decides he doesn’t believe in the construct of age. 

“Ta-da,” Rusty says triumphantly, like a dog needing to be praised, and presents to Danny a pair of silver cufflinks, which he recognizes as his own. 

Danny raises his arm, and finds his cuffs hanging loose and open. He looks back at Rusty’s smiling, proud face, and says, failing to remain solemn. “Thief.” 

Rusty leans down and kisses him, slow and sweet this time, and chaffs, “You love me.” He gets up, closing the fallen umbrella. “C’mon, you’ll catch a cold.” 

“Aren’t I already dead?” But Danny stands up anyway. 

“Legally, and that’s not what we ever went for.” 

Danny laughs, and says, “Good job on the cufflinks.” 

Rusty smiles, and loops his hand around Danny’s waist, no doubt trying to steal something from him again. “Let’s go back, yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

**fin.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GODDDDDDD it's finally done. editing really drains your soul. i finished this on like the 16th after starting it on the 10th but i'm lazy by nature and it just felt right to separate it into chapters


End file.
